"Faster!" I cry into the mic, my voice shrill with exhilaration. "Faster!"
Raffael’s answering growl vibrates through his back into my chest. And then he obliges. The Ducati roars, a beast unleashed, the engine snarls like it had been waiting for this moment all along. The surge of speed steals the air from my lungs, and the ground beneath us is nothing but a blur, a whoosh, gone before I can even register it.
I feel it then.
Like I’m flying.
Like every chain Roberto ever wrapped around me, every bruise, every scream, every cage of fear—gone, stripped away by the wind and speed and power of this moment.
I close my eyes for a heartbeat, and when I open them again, I swear I see her—the girl I used to be—the girl who laughed, who dreamed, who wanted more.
A butterfly, breaking out of the cocoon.
Free.
Utterly, gloriously free.
We slow down once we hit the city limits, but even here it feels exhilarating. Raffael weaves the Ducati through traffic like it’s nothing, slipping between lanes, gliding past lines of cars stuck at red lights while horns blare in frustration. Where others are trapped, he’s in control. Untouchable. And with my arms wrapped tight around him, pressed against his back, I feel untouchable too.
When he finally pulls into a park and kills the engine, the sudden silence makes the rush in my blood louder, almost dizzying. The vibration lingers in my legs, a hum under my skin, and when he swings off and reaches back for me, I take his hand without hesitation. My legs wobble when I land, but I’m too wired to care.
The moment he unclips my helmet and pulls it free, cool air brushes over my hair. I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just kiss him. Breathlessly and fiercely. A spark born of adrenaline and something so much deeper.
When I pull back, I’m smiling, shaky but real. "Thank you. That was… amazing."
His grin is pure pride, but it softens the second his eyes lock on mine. "If I had known this was my reward, I’d have done it a lot sooner."
Our eyes meet, and like always when that happens, everything around us stills. "Call your brother," he finally says, steady and certain, and nods toward a bench beneath the shade of an oak.
I look at him, then take the phone out of my jeans' pocket. Slowly, I nod, swallowing a dry knot in my throat.
The bench creaks as I sit; the wood is cool beneath my fingers. I clutch the device like it’s both a lifeline and a loaded weapon. Across the path, Raffael folds his arms, keeping his body taut, while his gaze sweeps the park, sharp, restless, vigilant. Always watching, always guarding. But he gives me space too, far enough away that this moment belongs only to me.
It’s been so long since I’ve talked to Marcello, really talked, just the two of us. And now, with everything that’s happened, I don’t even know where to start. It’s taken me days to realize he must be worried sick about me, especially after the police found Roberto’s body.
But the fucked-up truth? I didn’t once stop to think about Marcello’s feelings. Hadn't considered that he'd be worried about me. As if… as if I couldn’t let myself believe I mattered enough to anybody to be worried about.
It doesn’t make sense, I know. It sounds like an excuse, but it’s the truth. That’s what Roberto did to me. He hollowed me out until I couldn’t see myself as anything more than a pawn, a burden, a toy to be used and discarded. He made me forget that I was someone’s sister. Someone’s blood.
Raffael and Esther have been chipping away at that lie, showing me piece by piece how false it is. But the years I spent with Roberto carved deep scars, ones that don’t fade just because someone tells me I’m worth more.
The phone feels heavier than it should, like it’s carrying the weight of the last three years with it. My thumb hovers over Marcello’s name, and my pulse races so fast I almost can’t breathe. My eyes find Raffael, a few feet away, still leaning against that tree. He sends an encouraging nod my way, and I swallow another lump down, before drawing in a breath and hitting the button. The ringing fills my ears, loud, sharp, like it might split me open.
And then?—
"Yes?" Marcello’s voice barks through the line, clipped, too loud, and for a heartbeat, my chest caves in. I hear the fury in him, the fear, and it’s like being a five-year-old again, running to him with all my secrets because I knew he’d never let anyone hurt me.
But I did get hurt. And I never told him.
"Hey, big brother." My voice is barely more than a rasp. The words scrape out like glass, but I force them past my lips anyway. He deserves this. At the very least, he deserves to know I’m alive.
There’s a sharp inhale, like he didn’t expect me to be the one calling. "Sophia? Where are you?"
My throat tightens. I want to tell him everything, but I can’t—not here, not now. "I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you." My voice cracks, and I hate it. I sound weak. I sound broken.
"If that bastard touched you—" His shout bursts into the air, all fire and violence, and I flinch even though I know it’s not for me. It’s for Roberto. Always for Roberto. "I'm coming to get you," he promises.
I close my eyes, gripping the phone so tight it digs into my palm. He doesn’t understand. He can’t. "No, Marcello, don’t. Wait. Stop." My words come out sharper, stronger. A scrap of steel in me that’s survived everything. "Things happened," I push out, each syllable a weight I can barely carry. "Things I can’t talk aboutright now. But I’m fine. I’m with a friend. I just needed to let you know so you can stop worrying about me."
